Allergic to Death

by Peg Cochran

  Carlo looked at her inquisitively.

  Gigi made a gesture that encompassed the kitchen and the rest of the cottage. “I want to be able to afford to buy my cottage whenever the owner is ready to sell.”

  “But your business does quite well, no?”

  “No.” Gigi shook her head. “Yes. Yes, I’m doing quite well, but I don’t know how long it’s going to last with people thinking that I…I…poisoned Martha with peanut oil.” Gigi’s voice cracked, and Carlo’s eyebrows drew together in concern.

  “But no one would think that, would they?”

  Gigi nodded. “They might.”

  Carlo’s frown deepened, and a dark cloud descended on his bright eyes. “It makes me very sad to hear that.” He looked down at his hands, and Gigi could see the muscle in his jaw clenching and unclenching. He turned toward her and opened his mouth, then shut it again with a decisive click. He bent his head over the lettuce, quickly tearing it into bite-sized pieces.

  Gigi wondered what he had been about to say. She thought of Martha with her face perpetually creased into sour lines of discontent. She tried to feel sad that Martha was gone, but she just felt empty.

  “No one could ever think you would hurt anyone. Certainly not poison them.” Carlo looked up abruptly. “The police, that detective, they don’t really think you had anything to do with it?”

  “I don’t know. The problem is, there don’t seem to be any other suspects.” Gigi carried the platter of grilled meat over to the island where she had a dozen Gourmet De-Lite boxes open and ready. She gestured toward them. “Here, let’s put some salad in each of these.”

  “I think that Martha was really not very nice,” Carlo said as he helped Gigi fill each container with freshly washed greens. “Many people didn’t like her. Adora, Barbie, Winston,” he ticked the names off one by one on his fingers.

  “I don’t suppose her restaurant reviews made her a lot of friends, either,” Gigi said thinking back to one she had read upon her arrival in Woodstone. Martha’s review had been scathing, and the place had closed shortly afterward. She handed Carlo the bowl of dressing, and he began spooning some over the lettuce in each of the containers. “Did Martha ever review Al Forno?” Gigi glanced up at Carlo.

  His arm jerked, and the sauce flew into the air, landing in a puddle on the counter. “I’m so sorry.” He grabbed some paper towels and blotted up the spot. “No. No, Martha did not yet review Al Forno. We had hoped she would come, but…” He spread his hands wide.

  “So she never even ate there?”

  Carlo shook his head quickly. “No. Never. I had planned to make her our famous vegetable lasagna, but now…” He shrugged.

  He looked at Gigi, his glance sliding to a spot above her right ear.

  He was lying. She was sure of it. But why? Surely Carlo didn’t have anything to do with Martha’s death.

  Did he?

  Gigi drove slowly down High Street, head swiveling, searching for a parking place. There was a small space tucked between a shiny new Escalade and a battered vintage nineties Volvo station wagon. Gigi bit her lip. Parallel parking wasn’t one of her strong suits, but she thought the MINI ought to be small enough to fit.

  She pulled alongside the space and began turning the wheel. The angle was wrong. She looked in her rearview mirror, but no one was hovering impatiently behind her. She straightened the car and tried again. It still wasn’t quite right. She was ready to give up and head for the lot at the end of town when she noticed someone watching her.

  It was Detective Mertz. And there was a funny look on his face. If she didn’t know better, she would almost think it was a smile. She straightened the car again. Now she had to get it into the space. She couldn’t let Mertz get away with laughing at her like that.

  Gigi’s hands were slippery on the wheel. She worried her lower lip with her teeth as she concentrated on the parking maneuver that had always seemed to come so easily to Ted. And men in general. Just the thought made her mad.

  There was a knock on the window, and Gigi stopped, her foot jammed on the brake. She zapped her window down.

  Mertz’s face was grave, but she thought she saw a brief, dancing glint in his steel gray eyes. He bent down until their heads were almost level. “I need to ask you some questions about the death of Miss Martha Bernhardt.”

  “Now?” Gigi scowled, glancing at the clock on her dashboard. She was starving, and had planned to stop in at Al Forno to pick up something quick for lunch. By the time she was finished making all the Gourmet De-Lite meals, the last thing she wanted to do was cook for herself. She hadn’t eaten much since the day before—an attack of nerves had sidelined her appetite. She had no idea how soon she’d be hearing from Branston Foods, but with Carlo’s help, they’d delivered all the meals promptly on the stroke of twelve noon.

  Mertz nodded. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but it would be most helpful if you could spare me a few minutes.”

  “Fine. Just let me park my car.”

  “I’d be happy to do it for you.”

  Gigi glared at him as she zapped her window closed.

  Mercifully, the car slid into the spot this time without a hitch. Gigi wiped a trickle of sweat off the back of her neck with a tissue. Her hand inched toward her purse and her lipstick and compact, but she stopped herself. What did she care how she looked in front of Detective Mertz?

  She had the feeling that he was watching her as she slid out of the car, but when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, his face was as unreadable as a statue’s, and he was standing straight and tall with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Okay.” She squinted up at him when he didn’t move.

  He nodded. “Would you mind if we got a bite to eat while we talk? I haven’t had lunch yet.”

  Gigi felt her own stomach grumble. “Sure.” She looked down the street toward the Woodstone Diner. The place was clean, even if the most imaginative thing on the menu was a black-and-white milkshake.

  “I think you’ll like Al Forno.” Mertz inclined his head toward the red and green striped awning.

  “Oh.” Gigi was caught by surprise and hesitated.

  “If you would rather some place else?”

  “No. Al Forno. That’s fine.” Gigi took a determined step in that direction. She pushed aside the extremely irrational thought that she didn’t want Carlo to see her with Mertz and get the wrong idea. That was ridiculous. It was none of Carlo’s business who she had lunch with, and she wasn’t really having lunch with Mertz—they were just killing two birds with one stone by having something to eat while he asked her his questions.

  It was slightly past the lunch hour, and the crowd at Al Forno had already thinned. A group of men in business-casual khakis and golf shirts were nursing cups of coffee and picking at the remains of dessert, while at another table, a group of women toasted a very pregnant coworker as she unwrapped gifts covered in pastel-colored paper. A lone man sat at the bar, the remains of his lunch pushed to one side, his briefcase open on the empty stool next to him.

  Emilio rushed forward when he saw Gigi. “Cara, come in, come in. We have a wonderful pasta e fagioli today that you are going to love.” He smacked his lips. “Come sit at the bar and talk to me while I polish the glasses.”

  Mertz stepped out of the shadows and stood next to Gigi.

  “Oh.” Emilio’s hand flew to his mouth, and his face froze. “A table for two?” he asked in a stilted voice.

  Gigi nodded.

  “This way, please.” He spun on his heel and turned his back on them.

  He led them to a large table, set for four, that stood smack in the center of the room. Gigi almost laughed. She wasn’t here to canoodle with Mertz, and if she were, Emilio’s choice of table almost guaranteed they’d have no privacy.

  Emilio busied himself removing the extra two place settings as Mertz pulled out a chair for Gigi. Emilio’s normally open and friendly face was settled into a deep frown. Gigi tried to smile at
him, but he kept his eyes down and averted.

  Emilio snapped his fingers, and a waitress came running to their table. She had blond hair piled on top of her head in a loose bun and was wearing a low-cut white shirt and candy pink glossy lipstick. She had a water pitcher in one hand and two menus in the other. Emilio grabbed the menus and plunked one down at each of their places as the waitress filled their water goblets.

  “Lara will be back to take your order,” Emilio said stiffly before walking away.

  “Do you need a few minutes?” Lara smiled at Mertz, and Gigi could see a piece of bright orange gum parked in the back of her mouth.

  Mertz nodded curtly, his eyes on his menu. Lara shrugged and flounced off toward the kitchen.

  Gigi flipped open her own menu and scanned the luncheon entrees. Her appetite had suddenly deserted her. Carlo was nowhere to be seen, but she expected him to appear at any moment. What would she say? Not that she owed him an explanation. She sat up straighter. She had every right to be sitting in Al Forno with Detective Mertz. Especially since it was official business.

  And even if it weren’t, Carlo had never asked her out…She stopped with her water glass halfway to her mouth. Where had that thought come from? She’d never before even admitted to herself that she wanted to go on a date with Carlo. And she didn’t. She really and truly didn’t.

  Mertz slapped his menu closed. “I’ve decided. And you?”

  Gigi nodded. She’d hardly glanced at the menu, but she’d been to Al Forno enough times to know what was on it. “I’ll have the pasta e fagioli Emilio mentioned.”

  Mertz nodded and turned around to look for the waitress. He waved, and Lara rushed over to their table.

  Lara leaned over the table as Mertz gave their order, but if she expected to catch Mertz’s eye, she was doomed to disappointment. Gigi almost laughed. Mertz kept his glance averted and his face rigid.

  Finally, Lara flounced off toward the kitchen again, and they were alone. Mertz cleared his throat. “I appreciate your meeting with me over lunch.” His mouth quirked to one side in a semblance of a smile. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have a chance to eat until dinnertime.”

  Gigi glanced at Mertz’s impressive shoulders. He probably needed plenty of nourishment to feed all those muscles.

  Mertz looked around the room. “I’ve never been here before, but I’ve heard the food is good.”

  “It is.” Gigi fiddled with her water glass. Emilio stood behind the bar, furiously polishing glasses and throwing glances their way. So far there was no sign of Carlo.

  Mertz ran a finger around his collar as if it were choking him. “The only Italian food I’ve ever had is pizza.”

  “You’ll like it,” Gigi reassured him. “I think it’s some of the best food there is.”

  Mertz nodded. “Ma had to feed six boys, so we were a real meat-and-potatoes kind of family.”

  Six boys? No wonder Mertz was so uncomfortable around her, Gigi realized. Growing up with all those boys, he probably knew very little about women.

  He cleared his throat. “Did you see anyone around your car the day Ms. Bernhardt was killed?” he asked, getting down to business. Obviously he had depleted his entire stock of small talk.

  Gigi sat up straighter. She thought back to the day of Martha’s car accident. “I don’t remember seeing anyone. But I wasn’t paying very much attention.” Gigi pleated the napkin in her lap.

  “What exactly did you do that day?” Mertz’s expression was intense. “Try to remember it step-by-step. If you did see someone, it might come back to you.”

  Gigi closed her eyes and mentally retraced her steps on that fateful day. She ran through it like a movie playing in her head—ending with Martha driving away and eventually hitting the tree. She felt her hands clench at the memory and opened her eyes to see Mertz watching her intently. She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I just don’t remember if there was anyone near my car. There may have been, but I just can’t remember.”

  Mertz nodded. “That’s okay. But if something does come to you, be sure to give me a call.” He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a card and pushed it across the table toward Gigi.

  Gigi was about to pick it up when someone slid a plate in front of her. She looked up. It was Carlo.

  His eyes were dark and miserable, and his mouth was set in a thin, tight line. Gigi started to say something but then closed her mouth. What could she say? She really didn’t owe Carlo any explanation. None at all. Still, she felt terrible seeing the look on his face.

  Carlo slid a grilled chicken pesto panini in front of Mertz. Mertz looked at it doubtfully.

  “Could I get a cup of coffee, please?” Mertz nodded stiffly at Carlo.

  Carlo nodded back, and Gigi could tell by his expression and the rigid set of his shoulders that he disapproved. According to Carlo and Emilio, the only thing to drink with lunch or dinner was a glass of an appropriate wine or, if for some reason you chose not to drink, a glass of bottled Italian water. Coffee was for after dinner only.

  Carlo brought over the coffeepot nonetheless and deftly slid a cup and saucer onto the table at Mertz’s place. He began to pour the dark, vibrant brew they served at Al Forno when his arm jerked and hot liquid was suddenly pouring onto the table and into Mertz’s lap.

  Mertz jumped up, nearly upsetting the table. Gigi’s glass of water toppled over and mingled with the spilt coffee.

  “Merde,” Carlo muttered as he put the coffeepot down on the table. “Please excuse me. My mistake.” He grabbed the napkin Gigi handed him and began to mop up the spilled coffee.

  “Lara.” Carlo snapped his fingers, and the waitress bustled over with a roll of paper towels.

  “I am so sorry about that.” She twinkled at Mertz as she dabbed at his trousers with a wad of paper towels. “At least it wasn’t my fault this time.” She ripped off some fresh towels and dropped them on top of the puddle on the table. “Carlo went ballistic last week when I spilled a drop of water on a customer.”

  Gigi was surprised. That didn’t sound like Carlo.

  “She was someone real important,” Lara continued, as if she had read Gigi’s thoughts. “I don’t remember her name, but Carlo seemed to think she might say bad things about Al Forno on account of it.” Lara shrugged. “It wasn’t my fault that’s the day the chef decided to overcook the chicken.”

  “What did the woman look like?” Gigi righted her now empty water glass. The liquid had flooded Mertz’s plate, leaving his panini a soggy mess.

  “Ordinary,” Lara replied snapping her gum. “Dark hair. About so tall.” She held a hand out roughly level with her own head. “Nothing special, you know?”

  Gigi’s stomach plummeted. She had a pretty good idea who the woman might have been.

  And if she were right, then Carlo was in big trouble.

  Chapter 10

  “Carlo a murderer?” Sienna squealed.

  Gigi put a finger to her lips and looked around. “Shhh, not so loud.”

  Sienna grabbed Gigi by the elbow and pulled her through a beaded curtain and into the storeroom of the Book Nook. She leaned against a towering stack of dusty volumes, chin in hand. “Okay, now tell me everything.”

  Gigi explained about the waitress and Carlo getting all upset about her spilling water on the woman. “It must have been Martha,” Gigi declared.

  “Not necessarily.” The books Sienna was leaning on began to wobble, and she grabbed them quickly. “It could have been any good customer that Carlo didn’t want to upset.”

  “I wish that were true. But I know Carlo. He wouldn’t act like that for no reason. It had to have been someone very important. And that someone had to have been Martha. She was probably planning to review Al Forno.”

  Sienna frowned. “We don’t know that—”

  “Believe me. I don’t want it to be Carlo, either,” Gigi said, wondering why she was trying so hard to convince Sienna of just that.

  “You are falling for him!” Sienna thumped the stack
of books, and they wobbled dangerously.

  “I’m not,” Gigi said, but the denial felt halfhearted, even to her.

  “You are.” Sienna clapped her hands. “We knew it. Everyone has been—”

  “What?” Gigi demanded. “Has everyone been talking about me?”

  “No, no, it’s just that anyone can see Carlo is crazy about you.” She glanced at her watch. “Come on. It’s teatime. Let’s sit down with a cup and figure out what we’re going to do.”

  “What are we going to do?” Gigi followed her glumly to the coffee corner and collapsed on the sagging sofa while Sienna fiddled with the tea things.

  “First, we have to find out if Martha planned to review Al Forno. Because if not, then it doesn’t matter what happened to this mystery woman Lara claims ate at Al Forno.”

  “I can stop by the newspaper on my way home and talk to the editor,” Gigi interjected. “You’re right. If Martha had no intention of reviewing Al Forno, then Carlo had no reason to murder her.” Her tongue stuck a little on the word murder.

  Sienna nodded as she poured hot water from the coffeemaker into two mugs.

  “Carlo has been acting rather weird, though. Like yesterday, when he was helping me with the lunches for Branston Foods—”

  “What? You didn’t tell me that.” Sienna stamped her foot in mock offense and water sloshed over the side of one of the mugs.

  “Don’t look at me like that. Nothing happened!” Gigi thought about that moment when she and Carlo had come face-to-face, pressed together in her tiny kitchen and how, just for a second, she had thought he might kiss her. She could feel heat coloring her cheeks, and it wasn’t from the hot tea.

  Sienna smiled smugly and took a sip from her cup. “All the more reason to prove Carlo had nothing to do with this whole business.” She plopped down in the chair opposite Gigi, moved a stack of books out of the way and leaned back. “So what do you mean by weird?”

  “Kind of jumpy. I mentioned something about Martha reviewing Al Forno, and he spilled dressing all over the counter.”

  “Hmmm.” Sienna fiddled with one of the sequins scattered across her long, gauzy skirt. “But this woman the waitress told you about—it could have been anyone, right?”